


Gal Pals

by ElvenSemi



Category: Original Work
Genre: (that's not really a super important plot point but I really wanted it for a tag), Bisexuality, Don’t copy to another site, F/F, Gold Plated Dildo, Lesbian Sex, Open Relationships, Original Fiction, Safe Sex Is Important Kids!, Strap-Ons, Suit Kink, Suit Sex, Urban Fantasy, Vaginal Fingering, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi
Summary: Just two gals, being pals, hanging out in the house of an immortal millionaire, who takes way too long in the bath.





	Gal Pals

**Author's Note:**

> More from the original universe, Valesport, where me and a bunch of my friends dick around. Helps if you're familiar with that story but it's not particularly mandatory since I tried to explain things a bit as I went. If you want to see more of Bree, you can check out [Stay/Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582026), which is about her and Jean, and [The Problem With Faeries](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582026), which is the free first chapter of what'll eventually be a full original novel. As always, if you want to see more of these guys here on Ao3, please let me know because I don't really tend to post original work here much. 
> 
> For those of you not familiar with the characters:  
>  **Bridget "Bree" Corey** : Cursed human in grad school to become a librarian, currently interns at the Valesport Public Library. Turns into a chorkie from sunset to sunrise. [[ faceclaim](https://i.imgur.com/HoM6bUW.jpg), [ art](https://i.imgur.com/owiS8w8.png)]  
>  **Ren** : Homeless "human" who's taken up residence with a semi-feral gargoyle in an abandoned church. Has a very special relationship with rats. [[ faceclaim](https://i.imgur.com/7KG4rWR.jpg), [ art](https://imgur.com/a/LtECkbr)]  
>  **Jean Cernunnos** : Immortal, inhuman, incomprehensibly frustrating. The oldest and arguably most powerful resident of the very supernaturally packed city of Valesport, mostly still there because he was there FIRST, and then all these PEOPLE showed up. Has a very confusing (to Bree) relationship with Bree and a very simple (to Ren) relationship with Ren. [[ faceclaim](https://imgur.com/a/0k3UPBL), [ art](https://imgur.com/a/pChfGsC)] ((Jean was created by my good friend Kitty Unpretty, and is used with full permission and adoration))
> 
>  

Bree was pretty used to Jean not opening the door when she knocked. She had a tendency to hammer with the best of them when she wanted in, but that only worked maybe half of the time. Especially considering there was literally no way to tell whether he was out or just ignoring her.

What she wasn't used to, however, was someone else answering the door.

Bree actually got confused, for a second--she'd been looking up, expecting Jean, and saw nothing. Then she looked down, and there was Ren. 

Bree almost didn't recognize her, for a second thinking she'd stumbled into yet another of Jean’s numerous lovers. Objectively, she knew damn well Ren was here more regularly than she was by far. Ren had a regular sort of deal going with Jean, and visited him at least once a week. But Bree had never actually seen her anywhere outside of the library before. 

As her gaze traveled lower, Bree took in more reasons why she'd almost failed to recognize someone she saw on at least a semi-regular basis. She'd grown accustomed to seeing Ren in the library, yes, but also wearing starkly different clothing. The young woman generally wore dark, baggy clothes, normally heavily worn, sometimes torn. Had she ever seen Ren without a hoodie on? But right now, Ren was wearing nothing but a short silk robe, tied loosely around her waist, in purest, starkest white. Even in such revealing wear, the woman was flat as a board. That didn’t seem to be keeping Bree from staring. The glittering sheen to her skin should have been a dead giveaway, but Bree didn’t normally see this, uh, this much of it. 

"Hey," Ren said, smiling up at her. "You wanna come in?"

Bree abruptly tore her gaze away. Looking up rather than at her was probably just as rude as staring down her top. Oh god. Eyes. Just look at her eyes. “Uh... sure?” she replied, without really even knowing why she was agreeing. 

Dazed, Bree followed Ren into Jean's front lobby, which housed the bookstore that attracted the lucky--or unlucky--few to his stoop. Bree knew every book on every shelf--even if Jean insisted on rearranging them constantly, as if solely to annoy her--but she doubted she’d ever be able to match the comfort with which Ren strolled through the parlor. As if she belonged there. Or maybe it was just the luxurious nature of the silk robe that had started slipping off of one of her shoulders, making her seem like another one of Jean’s nice things. 

"Uh, where's Jean?" Bree managed to ask, after shutting the front door behind her.

"Upstairs, in the bath," Ren said, and Bree could catch the end of an eye-roll as Ren half-turned to face her. " _Doing his hair._ "

Ah. Yes. That was something of an all-day activity for Jean. Worth it, obviously; his hair was his pride and joy for a good reason. But still, it was annoying as hell to get “I can’t, I’m doing my hair” and _know he actually meant it._

"Were you two, um..." she glanced down at Ren, who was, again... wearing nothing but a silk robe that _very obviously_ did not belong to her.

"You're not gonna be able trail off on that one. Jean does some weird shit and I'm not gonna try to guess which one you're talking about."

"Uh, I mean, am I interrupting something?"

"Not _really,_ " Ren said, shrugging. "Technically I already paid him. Anything I do at this point is just me being nice because I like him and his fancy house. I was actually just gonna take a nap before you started knocking. You want a snack? He said I could have a snack." Ren wandered further back into Jean's house, towards the kitchen. Bree trailed after her, endlessly confused.

"I'm, um, surprised you let me in," Bree managed. Ren had started rummaging through Jean's fridge. It was a very surreal sight, but it suited the street rat better than lounging in silks, that much was for sure. 

"You were knocking _super_ loud," Ren replied. "And I was kinda bored. I looked out the window and saw it was you; I wouldn't have just let some loud-knocking rando into his house."

"That's a... nice?" That sentence didn’t even make sense. Why was she like this? She _knew_ Ren. She was a homeless chick that Bree did _favors_ for, for fuck’s sake. She should not be worried about embarrassing herself in front of a woman that by all means should be near-incapable of judging. 

Ren glanced back over her shoulder at Bree. Her eyes were a shade of ice blue that abruptly reminded Bree of the colors that Jean’s turned when he was right in the middle of feeding. It wasn’t a connection she was used to making, and it made her shift uncomfortably. “Super weird to see you in street clothes,” Ren told her. “I really like your pants, though.”

Bree glanced down at herself. She hadn't been intending to come here; she’d just been in the area and couldn't stop herself. It... happened more than she would like. Her clothes were the kind that Jean would throw her out for wearing: white pants with angled cut-out sections that were covered with see-through mesh. She cleared her throat, blushing slightly. It _was_ pretty different than what Ren normally saw her wearing in the library, but also not the sort of thing she was used to getting compliments on. 

Ren interrupted her thoughts, holding up a bottle of wine and shaking it lightly, waving it back and forth. "Bet this is worth more than both of us combined. Wanna drink it?"

"Absolutely," Bree agreed immediately. Spending Jean’s money, at least, was something they could both agree on. Ren grinned a wicked little grin, teeth a starker white than they really should have been, given that she’d probably gone years without brushing her teeth. Bree had never really thought about it before. Also, she wasn’t sure she’d seen Ren smile very much. 

"That's the spirit." Ren set the wine bottle on the counter and then looked back into the fridge. "He keeps the weirdest stuff in here, you know? I don't know what half of it is." She pulled out a bowl. "Some kinda... seafood salad?"

Bree walked closer, glancing over the shorter woman's shoulder. She kept her hands behind her back. She wasn’t sure why. “Ceviche.”

"Yeah, that means nothing to me. Is it good?"

"It's in Jean's fridge."

"Point." Ren closed the fridge and grabbed the wine. "Grab some of those fancy rolls."

"Brioche."

"Yeah, sure." She ambled over to the bar and set the bowl and wine down, clambering with serious difficulty up onto one of the stools. It was a stool designed for a man cutting the line between six and seven feet tall, and Ren was significantly shorter than even Bree, who could just kiss six feet in a good pair of heels. Her feet didn't come anywhere near the ground once she managed to sit.

Bree grabbed some brioche buns before following her over, sitting down on the stool next to her with considerably more grace. Ren popped the cork off of the wine bottle with glee, then took a long drink directly from the bottle. A really long drink.

She let out a satisfied sigh as she lowered the bottle, setting it down on the counter and sliding it over to Bree. "I fucking hate wine," she informed her cheerfully.

"Why drink it?" Bree said, accepting the bottle and taking a much more conservative sip. She shouldn't have a lot of alcohol, even though it would be a good while before the sun set.

"Cause it's expensive," Ren said with a smile. Bree couldn't help smiling a bit too. She understood that instinct, keenly. "If he had whiskey here, I'd be drinking that instead."

"He has scotch," Bree said, wrinkling her nose. She'd had a single sip and then decided she wasn't missing much of anything.

"Oooh, really? Where? Er, no, actually, better not, since he’s never given me any." Ren had weird limits to what she would and wouldn't do when it came to Jean. She was simultaneously more fearless than Bree and yet far, far more careful. Or perhaps respectful was the word. 

“So, why were you coming by? More books?” Ren asked, startling Bree out of her thoughts. Which had mostly been circling on the strange way the woman sat, legs tucked under the stool as if she wanted to be squatting on it instead of sitting. 

“Oh.” Uh, not quite. “...Yes.”

"You can go upstairs if you wanna talk to him. He just ate, but you know how he is. I'm not really that great at masturbating anyway, so he could probably go for another one."

Bree choked, nearly inhaling some of the ceviche.

"WHAT!"

"Oh, sorry, is that not how you pay for books?"

"That's not-- I don't-- What even--"

"Was that not a safe assumption?" Ren asked, looking genuinely guilty. "Sorry. I thought you two, well, you know..."

"I mean, I _guess_ ," Bree said, still wheezing a bit. "But not like that. I don't just... while he's in the BATH... that's... I'm not..." She fumbled for words, unable to explain her position without insulting Ren.

"Ohhh, so like, just for fun?" Ren asked.

"I guess?" Bree agreed, voice strained. She wouldn't necessarily define Jean as fun, but then again, she wasn't sure what she would define him as.

"That makes sense. Sorry," Ren said again.

"So you... masturbate for him...?" Bree asked, head still reeling with this new information. It made perfect sense, in a way, but it still seemed like such a bizarre arrangement to her. 

“When that’s what he’s in the mood for, sure.” She shrugged, waving her hand vaguely. “Sometimes he’s in the mood for other stuff. I just do whatever.” 

“So… like… he…” she fumbled, trying to collect her completely scattered thoughts and mental images into something coherent. “And he’s just in the next room?” 

“Do you prefer him not to be?” Ren said, neutral expression splitting into a grin. 

“I! You! Don’t!” 

Ren laughed, then, and it struck Bree just how rarely she’d ever heard the woman laugh. Basically never? Possibly never. 

“Sorry, it’s just, you should see your face. Think of it like… feeding someone grapes while they lounge. He needs to eat. So do I. It’s a good deal.” 

“He could afford to just feed both of us without needing to get anything out of the deal,” Bree pointed out, voice dry despite her still-flaming cheeks. 

“Yeah, but I’d hate that. Wouldn’t you?” 

Bree paused, then thought about it. Would she? She remembered how she desperately tried to get a race-based scholarship, even though the concept embarrassed her, but failed despite her frizzy hair and skin so much darker than her mother’s. Just because she had no clue who or what her father was, no name on her birth certificate for him. She remembered the humiliation she went through to get the money for college from Jean, the way he’d burned himself into her life, branded her in such a way that, in retrospect, she wasn’t even surprised she’d come back. 

“No, I’d take it and run,” she lied. But the look on Ren’s face said she hadn’t lied very well. 

“I prefer give and take,” Ren said, instead of pointing out Bree was full of shit. “And it’s like… ethical consumption for him, right? He eats, I eat. It’s like a job.” 

“Weird job, though,” Bree pointed out. 

“Yeah, but the pay is great,” Ren said with a snort, then shook the now half-empty wine bottle. “So are the benefits.” Bree chuckled. Yeah, there were worse things than Jean’s house. 

“I’m surprised he just lets you wander around,” Bree said, and immediately regretted it. Why was it that every time she tried to make light conversation, she sounded like an absolute bitch? 

“Me too!” Ren said, then laughed. “I mean, it just seems like a terrible idea, right? But I guess he trusts me not to do anything really stupid. The last thing I want is to get thrown out.” 

Bree nodded amiably, glad that Ren hadn’t seemed to take offense. “I don’t know if he’d let me do that,” she said, to try and prove she hadn’t meant to imply Ren was like a feral cat that would surely pee on the carpet if let inside. “Pretty much every time I’m here, he’s on top of me.” 

Ren grinned broadly, a wicked expression helped along by the way her angled eyes narrowed into crescent moons when she smiled. 

“ _Not like that!_ ” Bree exclaimed, blushing and waving her hands in front of her as if she could physically stop the mental images. Ren cackled, a sound that seemed bigger than her tiny frame. “I just mean! He doesn’t normally leave me alone!” 

“You’re not doing yourself a lot of favors,” Ren said, still grinning. 

“I never seem to,” Bree grumbled, snatching the wine bottle back to take a longer swig out of it, cheeks still burning. Searching desperately for another, _any other_ , subject of conversation, she stammered out. “S-so, how’s that kid you’re teaching to read?” 

Ren blinked slowly, pulling away from the brioche she’d been tearing into with her teeth. 

“I mean… I assume it’s a kid? I guess you could also just be getting it for like a charity or something but…” She didn’t really need to finish that sentence. Ren wasn’t someone who gave to charity, she was someone to whom charities gave. “I know it’s not for you, I mean, you read fine,” she continued, praying for Ren to say something so the could shut up. Instead, the woman just tilted her head slightly, like a cat eyeing the distance of a jump. 

“...They’re for my boyfriend,” she said finally. 

“Oh… Oh! I didn’t know you, uh, I mean, that’s great! That’s, super great, I mean, not that you have a boyfriend, that you’re teaching him how to read, I mean, not that it’s _not_ great you have a boyfriend, that’s also totally great, um.” 

Ren’s expression wasn’t changing, still fixed on some sort of unreadable consideration. Of course, Bree had never been good at reading expressions at all. Jean had to practically broadcast them to get the point across. 

“Does he, um, know about…?” Bree gestured vaguely around at their surroundings, then fought the urge to slap herself in the face because it was _none of her goddamned business._

Ren shrugged. “Yeah. He doesn’t mind. Well, not in the way you’re thinking, anyway.” 

“Is he, um, does he have a place?” 

Ren shrugged again, but didn’t say anything. Bree’s mind flipped through what she knew of her, what she’d seen her reading. Books of magic, lots of books on homunculi and golems and the like. Reading books, sign language books. It painted _a_ picture, if not a particularly clear one. 

But hey, it was Valesport. Bree had stopped judging even before she’d stopped caring. She was in unhealthy, unbalanced psychosexual relationship with a powerful immortal who ate emotions. She had a hyena in her apartment. No stones could be thrown from her glass house. 

“Why do you think Jean has ceviche in his fridge?” Bree asked, opting to change the conversation entirely, even if to something banal. 

“What do you mean?” Ren asked, tilting her head. 

“Like, why does he ever have anything in there?” she pointed out, poking at the ceviche with a fork that was probably real silver. “It’s not like he needs to eat it.” 

“He does anyway, though, right?” 

“I have no idea. I mean, I’ve seen him eat at restaurants, but I think that’s more just because it’s weird to take someone to a restaurant and then not eat.” 

“I guess he keeps food around so that homeless women who wander into his house have something to eat,” Ren reasoned. She said it so flatly that Bree stared for a moment. Only the barest hint of a smile on her lips gave her away, and Bree couldn't help but laugh. 

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s totally it. Ceviche for the homeless.” 

“He bakes, too. Have you ever come in here when he’s got something in the oven? Smells like heaven.” 

“God, yes. I’m convinced he only does it because it makes the house smell nice,” Bree snorted. “He could just light candles.” 

“Then he’d have to actually put books away instead of leaving them thrown everywhere like the world’s most expensive fire hazard.” 

“I bet he’d get super pissy about the wax, too.” 

“Oh, no doubt. He’s so picky about what he brings in here that I can’t believe he brings _me_ in here.” 

“Same!” Bree exclaimed. “Not that he’s not an ass about it, right?” She gestured down at herself. “Good thing he’s in the bath, or he probably wouldn’t have even let me in the front door in this.” 

“You look fine though!” Ren protested. “I mean it’s not a silk bathrobe, but not everything has to be a silk bathrobe.” 

“Right? And I couldn’t begin to dress to his standards anyway. Even if he paid me to, I’d never be able to guess what he thinks looks good.” 

“Oh, that part’s not hard,” Ren said, waving her hand. “He likes asymmetry, clean lines, heels you can put a man’s eye out with. Gowns and dresses in particular. Depends on personality and frame past that, though… Oh, and soft things… material that feels good when you touch it.” Ren reached out and snagged the front of Bree’s tank, startling her. She rubbed the material between forefinger and thumb before letting it drop back against Bree’s chest. “See? This is just, what, like, a cotton blend? It’s comfortable and airy and totally reasonable. But he wouldn’t like it even if it wasn’t all tired and worn, cause it’s not a good feeling on your hand. Put the same cut a size smaller in white silk, though, and he’d probably like it.” 

“Did he tell you all this?” Bree asked, blinking. 

“Wasn’t hard to figure out. He loves playing dress up. He likes when I can pick out something good, myself. I think he finds it funny, like a rat suddenly standing up and reciting shakespeare. A dress on a pig, something like that.” 

Bree’s cheeks flushed in sympathetic humiliation. Not that Ren ever seemed even slightly embarrassed or put out by Jean. Bree had wondered if she didn’t know, but now it seemed like she just didn’t care. 

“C’mon,” she said, suddenly irritated at the man upstairs bathing in luxury. More irritated because she knew that both of them had done this to themselves. “Let’s drink more of his shitty expensive wine.” 

“That’s the spirit!”

\--

One bottle of wine turned into several, despite the fact that Bree should have been watching her alcohol intake more sharply. They migrated around Jean’s house, although even inebriated, neither of them tried to get in any of the doors Jean _always_ left closed. The rest, Bree figured, were fair game. Bree was lamenting loudly about the locked door to the office and pulling at the doorknob.

“Dooon’t, we’ll get in trouble,” whined Ren, wrapping her arms around Bree’s waist from behind. She’d drunk more of the wine by far, but didn’t seem significantly more drunk than Bree was, which was somewhere between “tipsy” and “tripping.” 

“No we won’t! He takes me in there all the time!” 

“It’s _locked!_ ” 

“Get one of your rats to open it from the other side.” 

“That’s not how that works! Also, he doesn’t let me bring my rats inside.” 

“Seriously? Hypocrite. He lets dogs in here.” 

“He _does_?!” 

“He even lets them on the bed,” Bree said with a wicked grin at no one in particular. She let go of the door, but Ren didn’t immediately let her go. “You think he’s gonna be done in the bath soon?” 

“No way, it’s barely past noon.” 

“Wow, we are way too drunk for barely past noon.” 

“We’re not even that drunk!” Ren protested. 

“Maybe _you’re_ not.” Bree took a stumbling step forward. Ren still hadn’t let go. “You’re gonna have to let me go.” 

“You’re warm,” Ren said, something between a protest and an excuse. “You still wanna see Jean?” 

“Not in his _current state_ , if that’s what you mean,” Bree replied with a scowl. Under ordinary circumstances, he might actually let her in the bath. She briefly entertained the thought of just walking in there nude and joining him. But she lacked the confidence, because in the back of her mind, she was certain that as soon as she took a risk like that, he’d shoot her down and leave her crippled with the worst kind of humiliation and rejection. Also, he was doing his hair, so he probably wouldn’t even appreciate the kind of distraction she’d offer. 

“Enough to hang out until he’s done?” 

“...Maybe,” Bree admitted grudgingly. Her hands had gone to Ren’s at some point, probably to try to pry the girl off of her. She’d gotten distracted before she’d actually started to pry, however. “What about you?” 

“I’m just hanging out because this is the best place to nap in the whole city. I’ll be gone before sunset.” Bree’s ears twitched under her hat. Sunset? Why specify sunset? Fuck, she didn’t _know_ , did she? Had Jean been _telling_ people? She was going to kill him. Somehow. 

Was there a way to find out for sure if she knew, without basically telling her? Ugh. 

“I can leave earlier, though,” Ren added, perhaps mistaking Bree’s sudden stiff silence for a desire for privacy. Of course, Bree did want privacy, so there wasn’t really much to say. 

“Well… Might as well stick around until he gets out of the bath, right? Not like there’s a more comfortable bed to steal naps on…” Privacy was, after all, only necessary around sunset, unless Jean came out early and didn’t immediately chase them _both_ out. 

“ _Right?_ ” Ren said enthusiastically. “Drag me to bed!” Her weight around Bree’s ribs suddenly increased as she, presumably, went slack. 

“You just said you weren’t that drunk…” 

“But you’re so strong,” Ren whined. “Drag me!” 

Bree rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to be a brat, at least jump on my back instead of squeezing me.” 

Ren enthusiastically began scrambling up onto Bree’s back, almost before Bree could get her arms in place to grab Ren’s legs. “Jesus, you weight like four pounds,” Bree marveled as Ren wrapped her arms around Bree’s shoulders. 

“They don’t feed me,” Ren deadpanned. “You should call animal control.” 

“And risk you winding up in the pound? No way.” 

Carrying Ren into Jean’s bedroom was effortless. The girl seriously didn’t weigh much, and Bree was very strong. Well, for a human. Strong enough that she hated having to make that qualifier. She actually had a nagging suspicion that she could pick up Jean, if only he’d let her try. 

Jean’s bedroom was as stunning as ever. She’d been tiny the first time she’d seen it, and thought that was why it had seemed so large. But no, it was just a really fucking big room. It was the bedroom of someone who used it primarily for entertaining, not sleeping. She couldn’t blame Ren for wanting to sleep here; the bed was insanely soft, she knew, and the silk sheets--currently a rich lavender--felt amazing. It was a lot better than sleeping on the fucking street. Bree didn’t even sleep much at all, but Jean’s bed was comfortable enough to consistently tempt her into it. 

She moved to stand next to the bed, letting go of Ren’s legs so the woman could plop down onto the bed. She did so with a groan of appreciation. She was already rolling around on the gigantic mattress when Bree took a step away in order to turn around. 

Note to self: a woman rolling around on lavender satin sheets in nothing but a white silk robe was extremely gay no matter what the context actually was. Bree averted her gaze quickly, about two seconds after she’d realized it was incredibly likely Ren had never bothered to put underwear back on after “feeding” Jean. 

Jean, who was in the next room, completely nude and relaxing in a bathtub clearly built for multiple people-- _no, bad brain, stop that right now._ The fact that he could certainly taste any particularly strong feeling wasn’t helping her embarrassment, which was rapidly becoming a self-contained, self-feeding cycle. 

Ren, of course, noticed Bree’s gaze lingering on the bathroom door. 

“Hey, look, if you wanna go in, I can totally leave,” she said, sitting up on the bed. One of the shoulders of her robe had fallen completely off, and it was hiked up to the very top one of her thighs from rolling around. 

“N, no, no, that’s, um, no,” Bree stammered out, forcing her gaze over to the fireplace for something to look at that wasn’t a woman on a giant bed in a silk robe that was practically falling off. A woman with a boyfriend, she reminded herself. And the bed belonged to a guy they were both sleeping with for extremely different reasons. This was a very man-centric situation, really, if you thought about it, and so she should not be thinking about things that didn’t require any men whatsoever. 

“He’ll probably be in there forever,” Ren acquiesced. “So it’s not like you don’t have time to chill out if you just want to enjoy his super nice bedroom.” 

“Y-yeah,” Bree agreed, taking a few more steps away to sink into an unnecessarily plush chair that was halfway to a throne. Jean had almost certainly gotten a hugely alarming number of blowjobs in this chair. Bree knew, because she’d given several of them. Perhaps, in retrospect, hanging out in the room she was only ever in alone with Jean, either as a tiny dog being terribly pampered or as a woman being the opposite of pampered… while drunk, with another woman who was also drunk, had been a bad idea. 

Her eyes lingered on the violin in the corner as she desperately tried to think of something that wasn’t inherently sexual to start a normal conversation on. “He ever play that for you?” she asked, pointing. Ren followed her gesture to the violin. 

“Huh? Oh, no. Why would he?” 

“He’s really good at it,” Bree said, lamely, which was hardly an answer to the question. She was feeling a weird combination of embarrassment at the utter failure to say something normal and pleasure at the concept that playing violin was something Jean did for _her_ , inaccurate though it might have been. “So do you mostly just… show up, masturbate, leave?” _That was also not normal and had everything to do with sex, wow, okay, **great job across the board.**_

Ren laughed, thank god. “I’m in here as much as he’ll let me get away with, some weeks. Depends on what both of us have going on. He likes playing dress up and taking me out shopping, which is great.” 

“I’m genuinely glad _one_ of us enjoys that,” Bree said with a grimace. 

“You don’t?” Ren asked with another little laugh. “Come on, it’s great.” 

“You can put lipstick on a pig, and it’s still a pig; and I am talking _specifically_ about myself here,” she said, rolling her eyes. Although Ren had to know that was probably exactly why Jean enjoyed it with both of them. 

“But you’re so pretty!” Ren protested, and Bree’s cheeks immediately heated up to “molten core of the earth” levels. “You could fill out so many of the dresses Jean has so much better than me. You’re tall as hell, too. And what, like, C cup?” 

“I--!” 

“A lot of the stuff he has looks like it was built for someone with your frame, honestly. Tall and leggy.” Ren had stood up and was wandering over to the door to Jean’s closet. Bree had been in there, reluctantly; it was essentially an additional room. She glanced over at Bree, a mischievous smile on her lips that may as well have been a monetary bribe for as well as it was working. “You know, if you’re planning on being here when he gets out, we could find you something to surprise him with.” 

“You know he can literally taste us through the walls, right?” Bree pointed out. 

“Yeah, but not like, our thoughts. Just our feelings, right? ‘I’m gonna surprise my boyfriend with sexy lingerie’ isn’t a feeling.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Fuckbuddy?” 

“He’s just… Jean!” 

Ren snorted. “Yeah, I feel that. C’mon, we have time to kill. Might as well look around, right? I’ve honestly kind of been wanting to dig around in here when he wasn’t around. I’m pretty sure he has fashion statements from 1860 buried in the back somewhere. It’s like an archeological dig of rich-person-clothes.” 

“If you find me a suit from the 1920s I can put on instead of lingerie, I’m completely down.” 

“In _Jean’s_ closet that fits _you_? Well, never let it be said I turned away from a challenge.” Ren gripped both knobs of the obnoxious double doors to Jean’s oversized closet and pulled them open at the same time, with all the grandeur of someone opening the doors to a throne room. Bree looked in at the endless lines of meticulously organized suits with a dour sort of reluctance. She really wasn’t fashion-inclined, and it was going to smell so much like him in there. Not that it didn’t already in his literal bedroom, but that was like walking into a literal bomb of Jean. 

“What are the chances that you’ll let me start with shoes?” Ren asked, taking a few steps into the closet. 

“Negative twelve, because the way you said that already tells me you share Jean’s tastes there.” 

“Damn.” Despite what Bree had said, she could see Ren running her fingers along one of the many shoe shelves. 

“You know literally nothing is stopping you from trying things on, right?” Bree pointed out from where she still sat on Jean’s practically-a-throne. 

“Jean put me in this,” Ren replied, gesturing at the robe. Something about the way she said it sat wrong with Bree, as if Ren were a doll to be dressed up only in whatever Jean wanted. The fact she probably wasn’t that wrong only irritated her more, so she stood up and headed into the closet herself. 

“Well then, if _I_ put you in something else, he can complain about it to me.” She considered the shoes Ren was looking at, standing next to her and frowning. She had… no idea what the fuck she was looking for, though. She had a terrible fashion sense. She moved to a tall rack of dresses and eyed them uncertainly. “...Why does he have so many dresses…” she muttered, shifting through them and not really noticing huge differences between each one. 

“Easier to fit a lady for dresses than pants,” Ren suggested, pulling down a pair of gold and black stiletto sandals. 

“Absolutely not,” Bree said flatly. 

“No, really, it is! It--” 

“I’m talking about the shoes. I’d break my goddamn ankle.” 

“Were you planning on _walking_ in them?” 

“That is what one tends to do with shoes, yes.” 

“You’re already in a _bedroom_ , where would you be going with them? Just try them on,” Ren insisted. 

Bree sighed. “Fine. But only because I think I’d be at least six feet tall in them and I want to see that at least once next to someone as short as you. But if I sprain my ankle, you’re carrying me home.” 

“Deal,” Ren said, setting the heels near the full length mirror that Jean, obnoxiously enough, had in his walk-in closet. 

“Oh, this is kind of cute…” Bree said, pulling what appeared to be an oversized sweater off a hanger. “I’m surprised he has this kind of stuff.” 

“What, sweater dresses?” 

“This is a _dress?!_ ” 

“Well, it wouldn’t be on _you_ ,” Ren admitted, stepping closer to pull at the hem. “Except maybe in a legal sense. It _might_ cover your ass.” 

“I’m not wearing it!” 

“Wouldn’t go with the shoes anyway.” 

“I was thinking _you_ could wear it!” 

Ren blinked, considering the dress anew. “...I’m not saying Jean will _complain_ if you put me in just a sweater dress and no underwear, but I just want to point out it might ruin your whole ‘to hell with being sexy for the man’ vibe.” 

Bree flushed even brighter crimson, thrusting the dress at Ren. “OBVIOUSLY I was going to find you PANTS!” 

“...It’s a dress,” Ren said, looking pained. “You don’t wear pants under a dress.” 

“Leggings, then!” 

“You know leggings don’t count as underwear, right--” 

“ _I will find you some goddamn panties,_ ” Bree exclaimed, so loudly that Jean could probably hear it in the bathtub two rooms away. 

Ren burst into giggles, and it was only then that Bree realized Ren had been teasing her on purpose. That didn’t help her blush any less, though. She glared grumpily at the wall, cheeks hot and ears flat against her head under her hat. “I’m going to get you the most uncomfortable underwear in this entire closet,” she grumbled. 

“I’d offer _you_ some of Jean’s, but we both know they’re not gonna be just like, silk boxers.” 

Bree groaned at the memory of the time--seemed so long ago now--when she’d accidentally opened his underwear drawer. “No. God, no. Surely he has to have some normal underwear in here somewhere…” 

“I mean, probably not? He’d never use it, so why bother having it? If anything, it’s probably in that ‘for random tramps who wander in off the street’ suitcase of his.” Ren was on her knees, further back in the closet now, shoving a giant box away from some sort of wardrobe built into the wall. “Help me out with this?” 

Bree acquiesced, setting the dress down near where Ren had put the shoes. The box that Ren was struggling with seriously wasn’t even heavy. Bree just picked it up and moved it to the side, trying not to roll her eyes. It wasn’t like homeless women were known for their workout routines and protein intake. 

Ren opened the wardrobe and whistled. “Score, I think that box was there for most of a century.” 

“Wouldn’t surprise me. I think he was a professional shut in up until last year,” Bree said, thinking back to the dusty, sad sort of way the house had smelled when she’s first come in, five years ago now. She pulled her thoughts quickly away when her heart panged painfully. Anxiety, probably… She thought she’d gotten over being traumatized by what had happened, but maybe not. “Smells like mothballs,” she observed, setting the box somewhere out of the way. 

“Yeah, we might have to air some of this out a bit,” Ren agreed. “Ooooh, look at this _suit_!” She carefully pulled out a suit jacket that was clearly one of Jean’s, or had been. The average sized man would drown in it, and all of Jean’s clothing was tailored and probably always had been. “It doesn’t even have _tags_ ,” Ren said gleefully, although Bree had no idea why this would be exciting. “I wonder how long he’s been in America? This looks super 1920s, if not earlier.” 

“He said this house was older than the city,” Bree said with a shrug. “And I doubt he’d live for so long in a house he hadn’t had built custom.” 

“Wow,” Ren murmured, running a hand over the lapel. “Older than the city, huh…?” 

“Weird to think about, isn’t it?” Bree asked, stepping up to the wardrobe herself. She felt the urge to sneeze but snorted it away. Mothballs and dust, but over all of it was the never-changing scent of Jean himself. Even century-old clothes still lingered with his smell. Or maybe it was just the closet. “I’ve never asked him how old he is, have you?” 

“No,” Ren said, shaking her head. “Never even occurred to me to ask, to be honest.” 

“I’m too scared of the answer,” Bree sighed, reaching in and pulling out another suit. “I once saw this old, old, _old_ picture of him and some woman. Had to be from the 1800s. He looked the exact same as he does now. One time, I saw a portrait that I would swear looked just like him, in an art museum. I’m telling myself that it’s a coincidence, because the fucking thing was dated to the 1630s.” 

“I mean, that’s not _that_ old, if you really think about it. There have to be things that are thousands of years old, right?” Ren pointed out. 

“Yeah, probably some of them are even in the city,” Bree said with a scowl. “But…” She didn’t know how to put her thoughts to words. Didn’t know how to voice the insecurity that came with knowing Jean could compare her to much more attractive women he had _now_ , let alone all the beauty and experience that human history had to offer. She shuddered, and decided not to try. “I don’t know. It’s just weird to think that the guy taking a bath in the other room has seen civilizations rise and crumble but spends his time mostly dicking around.” 

“What would you do?” Ren asked. “If you were immortal.” 

“Learn everything there is to know,” Bree answered immediately. “Should take me awhile, right?” She laughed. “What about you?” 

Ren paused. “...I never thought about it.” 

“Really? You shack up with an immortal and you never thought about it?” Bree asked, surprised. 

Ren shrugged. “I don’t plan past like, next month. When I was a kid I didn’t plan on hitting twenty, and now I don’t really plan on hitting thirty. Eternity is way out of my scope.” 

Bree froze, the reality of that statement settling in on her like a sheet of ice. “...You… But I mean, things are okay for you now, right…?” she asked nervously, tentatively. “I mean, Jean’s stupid rich. You could just…” 

Ren shrugged. “He’s got moods. Eventually, he’ll get bored, don’t you think? It’ll last as long as it does.” 

Bree wasn’t feeling very drunk anymore, as sober as if she’d been splashed with ice water. Yeah. She did think. She thought it every day, even though it was the thought she hated most. Having it stated plainly by someone else made her stomach twist. 

“...I guess it’s inevitable,” Bree said quietly. 

Ren glanced over, perhaps sensing the change in atmosphere. “But hey. For right now, we’re digging through some immortal billionaire’s closet. That’s pretty fucking wild, right? Just because something’s not forever doesn’t mean it’s not awesome while it’s happening.” 

“...” Bree forced a little smile. Ren wasn’t wrong. And that was probably a better life philosophy for someone on the streets. For anyone, really. “Yeah. You’re right. And this--ooh.” 

“YES,” Ren exclaimed, yanking out what Bree had just seen. 

“I don’t know--” 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, and since I found it, you have to let me pick what goes underneath.” 

“What? That wasn’t even slightly part of the deal.” 

“You said you were down!” Ren said, frowning. 

“For a suit, not for whatever _underwear_ you can scrounge up out of a pervert’s closet!” 

“You pick out my outfit, and I’ll pick out yours,” Ren said stubbornly. “You’ll thank me in a few hours when Jean’s out of the bath.” 

“Fine, but I’m not going to put any concern for your aesthetic into your outfit whatsoever,” Bree said flatly. “And you’re getting flats so I look super tall in those dumbass heels.” 

“Deal. You think Jean cares about my aesthetic? I think he specifically gets off on putting me in white.” She gestured down at the white silk she was wearing. 

“You look good in it,” Bree offered, without thinking about whether or not that was a good or normal thing to say. 

Ren snorted. “I probably look like a twelve year old.” 

Bree glanced down at the half-naked woman and swallowed. “Uh, no.” 

“Twelve year old boy,” Ren suggested. 

“If twelve year old boys looked like that, we’d all be in _a lot_ of trouble.” 

Ren laughed at that, and Bree could swear that she had a bit of a flush on her cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.” 

That was pretty true, but it was also pretty irrelevant. Bree didn’t point that out, though. She didn’t want to make it weird. Weirder. The situation was pretty weird to begin with; it didn't need any help. 

Bree was genuinely pretty hopeless with fashion, but _she_ thought the ensemble she put together was cute. She managed to find underwear that was… well, it was underwear, at least, and it looked about Ren’s size. That he had women’s clothing up here in a variety of sizes said a lot about him, frankly. 

Since Ren had informed her that what she’d thought was a large sweater was actually a sweater _dress_ , and it would frankly be big on Ren even with that in mind… She opted for stockings rather than leggings, which she couldn’t really find anyway. She also struggled to find flats, but managed to scrounge up what appeared to be ballet shoes from a discarded box full of shoes that Jean had probably meant to throw out and never gotten around to. 

The outfit Ren picked out was infinitely more complicated, forming organized piles on Jean’s gigantic bed as she hemmed and hawed over her options. They all looked equally obscene by Bree’s eye, but whatever. She’d probably worn worse by anyone’s standards. If she could put on trash and run down the street in it, she could tart it up for Ren’s amusement… for an afternoon, anyway. 

“I think I’m done!” Ren announced finally. Bree had been done for a while, but she’d been enjoying dicking around digging through Jean’s closet, calling Ren over whenever she found something particularly outrageous. She could finally understand why he always wore similarly styled suits with such regularity. Fashion must change so damn fast to his eye, but suits had been the style for ages. Honestly, if she’d been alive for as long as him, she would have given up on women’s fashion sometime in the 1200s and probably just have wound up wearing a goddamn robe or something. 

Ren looked amused when Bree handed over the rather simple outfit she’d picked out. “I didn’t know what bra size you were,” she grumbled, flushing slightly. “You can change in the closet and grab one from in there if you want.” 

Ren shrugged. “It’s not like I’m wearing one now. I honestly only wear sports bras unless Jean inexplicably wants me in something better.” She gestured to the bed. “Do you know how to get all of that on?” 

“Nope!” Bree said with as much cheer as she could muster. 

“Do you want me to help--”

“ _NOPE,_ ” Bree said again, steering Ren towards the closet. “If I get tangled in something, I’ll call for help.” 

Ren closed herself up in the closet, and Bree immediately started in on the outfit, knowing that Ren would change a hell of a lot faster than her. She tossed her clothes off haphazardly so that she could strap into the ridiculous undergarments Ren had selected for her as fast as possible. 

It was a good color, although she had no idea if the pale gold would look good on HER, specifically. The black accents were pretty though, although she would never wear this much lace... pretty much anywhere, at any time. Lace did not a practical garment make. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem to scratch or itch like she’d guessed it would. 

And this... this was a... oh, this was a GARTER. There was even hose. Why the fuck was there hose? She was going to be putting PANTS on over this! She pulled it on anyway, having to adjust the underwear--which did NOT give her the kind of coverage she traditionally appreciated--twice in the process. Finally she managed to get it all on, only to realize that, frankly, the difficulty had only just begun. 

But actually the three piece suit turned out to be… well, it was complicated. The pants buckled in an unfamiliar manner, there was a shirt and then a vest and then a jacket. But it was all pretty reasonable and familiar. She’d taken Jean’s suits off… enough times to be very, very familiar with the mechanisms. Even if she’d never worn anything like this herself. It was clearly designed for a woman, too, the vest tucking in at her waist and flaring out before resting neatly at the swell of her hips. There was even a hat, which would have been very suspicious if not for the fact it’d been with the suit when they found it. Bree tucked it on quickly, placing her own hat carefully to the side to make sure she didn’t somehow misplace it. 

“I think I managed to get it on!” she called out to Ren, remembering belatedly that the other woman would be waiting for her signal. She was admiring herself in one of Jean’s many regularly-placed full-length mirrors when she heard the closet door open and glanced over. 

Her mouth went dry very quickly. 

The sweater dress fitted loosely, falling most of the way to Ren’s knees, which were covered by the knee-high stockings Bree had picked out. Her shoulders and upper arms were bare through the cold-shoulder cut-outs. 

It shouldn’t have looked _better_ than a silk robe that was almost nothing, and yet here Bree was, feeling extensively gay. So it took her a moment to realize that Ren had an expression that even _Bree_ could recognize that probably mirrored her own. For a different reason, probably. Surely. 

“Do I look weird?” she asked uncertainly, turning back to the mirror to distract herself. She adjusted the hat again, despite the fact she knew very well that her ears were hidden underneath it. 

“You look, uh, great,” Ren said, then cleared her throat. “That fits you… really well. It could have been tailored for you, seriously.” 

Bree ran her hands down the side of the vest, grinning a little shyly. “It’s hot as hell. I hope they didn’t wear this during the summer.” 

“Yeah, it’s probably… wool… or something…” Ren said, sounding slightly distracted. Bree glanced back over to her, away from the mirror. “The tie looks really nice.” 

Bree tugged at it, grinning. “Right? I could get used to wearing one of these. It’s hard as fuck to tie one of these from the other side, though. I had to do it on the bed and then slide it over my head…” 

“Man,” Ren said, shaking her head. She looked a bit flushed, probably due to being closed up in a closet on a warm day. “Jean is in for a _really_ nice night.” 

Bree flushed bright crimson, looking quickly away. “W-well, that’s assuming I don’t just walk out the door in this.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you. That suit was made for you to wear it.” 

Bree blushed even darker. “It was made for some girlfriend Jean had in the 20s.” 

“I guess he has established taste, then.” 

Ostensibly straight homeless women should not be putting down this kind of game. Or, counter possibility, Bree was just really easy. Bree cleared her throat, rubbing at the back of her neck. She was absolutely burning up in this outfit, even more than she had been five minutes ago. “You, uh, you look really great too. I think I finally understand why Jean keeps getting me to put on his shirts. The, uh, oversized look. Is. Good.” 

Ren pulled at the front of it, grinning sheepishly. “I like the color. I thought you said you weren’t worried about my aesthetic, but here I am, charcoal grey and two sizes too big.” 

“An oversized hoodie, that is _not_ ,” Bree said pointedly. 

“Thanks,” Ren said, grinning. The weird, sudden-onset ice seemed to be broken, and she strolled towards Bree. It wasn’t a sight Bree had been particularly prepared for, and then she just _kept coming._ Bree stopped breathing altogether as the now _much_ smaller woman reached up… and grabbed her tie, adjusting it. “I can totally tell you put this on over your head. Hold on lemme…” 

Bree tried desperately to think of something significantly less gay than a tiny little women stretching up to _adjust her tie._ She was failing. She wondered what “sapphic” tasted like, to Jean, who could definitely absolutely tell what Bree was thinking, which just made the situation worse and better at the same time. 

She was jolted out of her thought by Ren abruptly yanking on her tie, _hard_ pulling her neck down. She teetered shakily on heels far taller than she was used to standing in, bending at the waist to keep from falling over. 

Ren blinked, her face closer to Bree’s than Bree knew what to do with, expression unreadable. “Oh, sorry. I just kinda got an urge to do that.” 

She still hadn’t let go of the tie. 

“Um. Do you, uh, tend to just go with random urges?” Bree asked, voice about an octave too high. 

“Tend to, yeah,” Ren said, nodding slowly. Her eyes flickered down from Bree’s, then back up again. 

Bree was very bad at picking up on social cues. She reminded herself of this. There were a lot of possible interpretations for this, none of which she could think of. Except the one. 

Carefully, she leaned closer. She remembered the way Jean had leaned over her first time they’d kissed, and tried to mimic it, not knowing what else to do being the taller person all of a sudden. He’d hesitated, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers. She did the same, hovering near Ren, uncertain, scared to make that last leap. 

Ren was significantly less uncertain. She met Bree’s lips with her own, then pulled the tie again, yanking Bree in to kiss her more forcefully. Her lips were rough, a bit chapped. Bree had never kissed a girl before; somehow she’d expected it would be soft and dainty. It was not. Kissing Ren was like kissing a storm on the ocean. Rough and wild and dizzying, impossible to find a balance in. 

Then she pulled back, and Bree met her eyes, breathless. They gleamed like thin ice over a lake. Then she grinned, lips cherry red spreading back over white teeth. “I’ve got a fun way you could get Jean to come out of the bath early.” 

For once, Jean was the last thing on her mind. She was distracted entirely with ‘girl,’ and with the incredible possibilities thereof that she hadn’t stopped to consider in nearly enough detail, she was suddenly certain. 

“I, um. What did you. Have in mind?” Bree’s mind was reeling, and despite the desire inherent in being yanked down into a kiss, somehow terrified of crossing a line she couldn’t see. 

Ren hummed thoughtfully. “Well. I’ve eaten enough of Jean’s food that I feel like I could stand to give him another meal. But I’m not actually not that great at giving myself orgasms. Wanna lend a hand?” 

“I have a strap-on here!” Bree blurted out, abruptly and with none of the grace Ren was displaying. 

Ren’s eyes opened wide in shock, mouth falling open, and at once Bree was horrified that she’d said something absolutely appalling. “Holy _shit_ ,” Ren said, looking absolutely floored. “Why…?” Her eyes traced over to the bathroom door, then widened even more. “For… him?” 

Bree nodded wordlessly, bright red and mortified. 

“...That is the hottest thing I have ever imagined in my entire life; get the strap-on you use to fuck Jean Cernunnos up the ass, right this second.” 

Ren released her tie, finally, and even gave her shoulders a little push, and Bree scrambled over to the bed. She knelt down, pulled out the little chest from under it. She was mortified she knew where this was; it was one of a few such boxes, one here, one in the office. Not boxes of _her_ things, per se, but boxes of things that were for her. 

They were basically boxes of her things. She didn’t like thinking about having boxes of her things at Jean’s house, but boxes of things for her wasn’t really any better. 

Inside was an assortment of items, all carefully kept in silk wraps. Face burning, she pulled out the largest one, shut the chest and pushed it back under the bed. She turned back to face Ren, and found her sitting on the corner of the bed, staring with something resembling awe on her face. 

“You have a box full of sex toys under Jean’s bed.” 

“I am _not_ the only one. You want a fun afternoon, go spelunking down _here_ instead of in his closet.” 

He actually had a special set of drawers for most of them. Not all of these dressers were for clothing. But she wasn’t going to introduce that to Ren. Right now. Maybe later. 

She unwrapped it, letting it sit awkwardly in her hands in silk. Ren whistled, clearly impressed, which wasn’t really the reaction Bree would have expected. But, in retrospect, she didn’t know what she’d expected at all. 

“Is that _gold_? Do you have a _golden artistic dildo you **fuck Jean with**?_” 

Bree cleared her throat, well aware that her voice would break if she didn't. It almost did anyway. “Gold _plated_. It’s a special occasions thing.” 

“Is gold the only thing he’ll let go up his ass?” 

“No! I mean, he might prefer it that way,” she admitted. “But, no, it’s just, he’s, you know, _really strong_ , so I suggested steel? And then I found a website that did custom orders, and, well…” 

“Did you have to trade him anything?” Ren marveled, revealing, in Bree’s opinion, an excellent understanding of how Jean worked. She reached out to poke at the dildo, which would have looked more like a modern art structure if not for the presence of a harness. 

“Yes.” A night out on the town, beautiful dinner at a beautiful restaurant. All without her hat, or even so much as a scarf. It was one of the most embarrassing things she’d ever done. The entire night was a haze of tension, fear of judgement that never came, and confused, bittersweet pain in her chest. 

Also, she’d blown Jean under the table, possibly because since she was already basically out naked. It’s not like it was much worse than what she’d already been doing. She wondered, sometimes, if part of the reason he was so keen on getting her out of her hat was what removing one inhibition did for the rest of them. 

She cleared her throat again. “It was worth it,” she added, and Ren nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yeah that might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever imagined Jean doing,” she said. 

“Really?” 

“Oh, hell yeah. Fortunately, I can imagine _you_ doing something hotter. Let’s get this on you.” 

It occured to Bree, belatedly, that she was about to fuck Ren on Jean’s bed, and fuck her in probably the most literal way she could manage. 

She really hoped this didn’t make future library visits _awkward._ She was still going to do it anyway, because holy fuck, but still. 

She glanced down at the clothes she was wearing. “These were really hard to put on,” she complained half-heartedly. 

“Oooh, idea, don’t take them off!” 

“This is _double ended._ ” 

“I have an idea, work with me here,” Ren said, reaching forward. She hooked her fingers into Bree’s waistband and pulled her forward. Again, Bree teetered on four-inch heels, staggering forward. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to _fall on you_.” 

“Oh no,” Ren said, voice dripping sarcasm. “Anything but that.” Deft fingers were making faster work of the clasps on Bree’s pants than she’d been able to do earlier when putting them on. She pulled them down without much ceremony, making Bree squeak in alarm. 

“Oh wow,” Ren said. “I have great taste.” She ran a few fingers over Bree’s hip, making her shiver. “These look great on you! I knew gold was gonna be your color. Didn’t know we were gonna be matching to your dick, though,” she added, gesturing towards the strap-on. 

Bree’s brain had stopped working about ten minutes prior and showed absolutely no signs of rebooting. “Um, should I…?” 

“Again, kinda hard to tell what you mean when you trail off.” 

“I, what I mean is, should I, you--” she trailed off yet again as Ren began to grin. “You’re doing this on _purpose!_ ” she protested. 

“Maybe a little bit,” Ren admitted. “Sorry. It’s just that red is a good color on you, too.” While Bree was still spluttering for a response, Ren reached out and pulled at one of the straps. “How does this thing go on? Do we have to slide you into it?” 

“Wh--Oh. No, actually.” Bree appreciated having something she could focus on that wasn’t her own short-circuiting. “See, it’s got straps, you can just sort of…” She moved to put it on herself, then paused, turning redder again. “Last time I did this, I had underwear that, um, you know…” 

“Were you wearing _crotchless lingerie?_ ” 

“...Maybe.” 

“You live a rich and fascinating secret life outside of that library,” Ren marveled. “Here.” She took the strap-on from Bree, briefly, still holding it up near her crotch. “Try like, scooching your underwear to the side, and… oh, wait, do you need like, lube first?” she asked absent-mindedly. “Want me to eat you out or something?” 

“uM.” 

“Up to you!” Ren continued. “I’m a little out of practice, probably, but--” 

“Um, I think it’s already, pretty, uh,” What was a good way to say she was likely already starting to soak through her underwear despite having just put it on? There probably wasn’t one. 

“Do you mind if I, uh?” Ren gestured vaguely towards Bree’s underwear. Bree had no idea exactly what she was asking--looked like they could both be vague sometimes--but was one hundred percent certain that she was down for whatever Ren was asking about. She nodded, probably way too eagerly. 

Her legs wobbled slightly as Ren carefully ran a finger right across her slit through the underwear. Her hands were so small compared to any other hands Bree had down there. Then Ren hooked under the crotch of the underwear and hitched it to the side. That was all the warning Bree got before Ren’s fingers were on her directly, probing curiously between her lips, none of the hesitation Bree might have expected. 

“Oh, wow, yeah, you probably _are_ good, actually,” Ren said, which just made Bree’s face heat up more. She could tell how much slick moisture Ren was finding between her legs. “But…” She ran a finger in a circle around Bree’s clit, and her legs shook, already threatening to give away. It was very hard to balance in heels during this. Ren did it again, then again, then flicked her finger repeatedly over that little nub. 

“oH, god, I might have to, um, I might fall over,” Bree began. 

“No,” Ren said, as if it was some kind of choice Bree could make. She was looking up at her sharply, eyes on her face as her fingers worked. “Stay standing, you look good like this.” One hand still working idly between her legs, Ren grabbed Bree’s pants with the other hand and yanked them the rest of the way down. None of this was making it easier for Bree to stay balanced on these goddamn heels she deeply regretting agreeing to wear, least of all the way Ren was rubbing her clit between two fingers. 

“Step this leg out,” Ren instructed, and Bree did so thoughtlessly, almost stumbling as she pulled her shoe out from the trousers. “Closer.” Ren emphasized this instruction with what could only be a ‘come hither’ gesture between Bree’s legs. She clenched her teeth, but managed to half-trip forward without falling over entirely. “Leg up,” she ordered, tapping the leg Bree had managed to get untangled from the pants. 

“Leg _up?!_ ” Bree asked, mildly flabbergasted at this request. 

“Put your foot on the bed,” Ren explained further, as if the issue was that Bree hadn’t understood. 

“Are you expecting me to balance my weight on _one leg_ in _these heels_?” 

“I’m expecting you to try really hard so I’ll keep doing this, and then fall over,” Ren illuminated, smiling a horribly cherubic smile. 

“...You spend too much time with Jean,” Bree grumbled, hiking one leg up onto the bed. It actually helped her balance, a little, being able to lean forward on it. And it spread her open wider, come to think of it, which was probably oH LORD. 

Ren slid her fingers right into Bree, so suddenly that she nearly lost balance right then and there. Ren’s fingers were shorter and thinner than Jean’s, but practiced, nestling right into her and curling against her g-spot immediately. Her nails were always kept trimmed and short, something she had never once bothered to wonder about before this exact moment. 

“Probably,” Ren agreed gamely. “But at least with me, you get the opportunity for revenge afterwards.” 

Bree let out a huff of breath, leaning forward to grab one of the bed posts. “I’m going to absolutely wreck y--ah!” Her cry turned into a whine as Ren found Bree’s clit again, this time with her thumb. 

“I’m holding you to that,” Ren said with a grin. “My metric for wrecked is pretty high.” 

Bree wanted to say something clever back, but her mouth failed her, as it often did, instead offering up only a litany of pants and moans. Her legs shook wildly as Ren worked her over, with more skill than she’d expected. She was vaguely aware that sleeping with Jean gave her a high baseline, and tried to keep that in mind with other partners. Something didn’t have to be mind-blowing every time, after all, to be good. And maybe part of it was the little differences, having a partner smaller than her, hands and body petite and delicate the way she’d always liked for women to be. Women who weren’t her, anyway. Maybe it was the situation, Jean’s bedroom and Jean’s clothes but making it gloriously their own without him. 

Maybe it was as simple as: hot girl, gorgeous clothes, permission to fuck her senseless. That seemed like enough in its own right. 

Bree grabbed onto the bedpost with her other hand, now half hanging off of it. How did anyone stand in heels like this?! The foot still supporting an alarming amount of her weight was killing her, serving as a constant distraction to the dexterity of Ren’s fingers inside of her. Her ankle wobbled, threatening to tip over and probably seriously injure her, actually, why was she even doing this, ah, ah, oh god, just a little longer and-- 

Ren stopped abruptly, pulling her hand away, and Bree very nearly toppled forwards. The only reason she didn’t was her grip on the bedpost; her hands slid down a few inches as her leg half-collapsed and she caught herself. 

She was _throbbing_. Ren was grinning. Bree was horribly familiar with this game, because her primary lover was Jean, who adored making people beg enough that he would put off the delight of drinking in an orgasm. She glared down at the smaller woman as she staggered back upright. 

“You should be good to go now!” Ren said cheerfully. 

Bree reached over and snatched up the strap-on from where it had been discarded on the bed. “You know, there are better ways to request being fucked senseless than tormenting people,” she said sourly as she attempted to break the world record for getting a strap-on situated and, well, strapped on. 

“Really?” Ren asked innocently. “I haven’t found one yet.” 

Bree, briefly, considered the ways in which she often tried to convince Jean to fuck her senseless, and had to agree. 

The high level of arousal and pleasant irritation was enough to propel Bree through the act of actually beginning to buckle the harness on. She slid her end of the toy up against her slit, only to have Ren reach up and push against it, shoving it right into her and flush up against her pelvis. 

“Ngh,” Bree said, between a moan and a growl. She wasn’t entirely used to the desire to throw someone on a bed out of arousal and frustration in equal measure. It was normally either one or the other. But it was becoming pretty clear that the only way to get Ren to behave for longer than five seconds was going to be rendering her incapable of moving. Which actually matched with everything Bree knew of the woman, but this technique would not be particularly applicable when trying to convince her not to bring rats into the fucking library. 

She was finishing tightening the last of the straps when Ren surprised her yet again by reaching down to tug her pants back up. Bree paused, confused enough to cooperate, and Ren pulled them all the way up and then buttoned them over the dildo, leaving it jutting out through the fly. She looked at it with the expression of a very hungry woman about to get a very good meal, which Bree had seen on her face enough times to recognize it, though this was a new context. 

It was a bit weird to look down and see a golden dick jutting out of her pants, but she didn’t hate it. And she couldn’t blame Ren for being, apparently, sexually attracted to the outfit. It was a really nice suit. Absentmindedly, she adjusted her hat, making sure it was still on tight. She noted the way Ren’s breath hitched, and smiled. Feeling sexy was welcome and not something she was used to in this sort of context. It was kind of nice to be with someone whose expressions were probably as plain on her face as Bree’s were. 

“We’re going to need a condom,” she realized. It was fine on _her_ end, but the part jutting out of her pants was for _Jean,_ which meant they definitely needed a condom. Even if they were all arguably pretty fluid-bound at this point, and even if Jean was completely immune to STDs of any kind. Okay, maybe not, but still. It was the principle of the thing. 

“I’m not sure where they are,” Ren said, blinking, which was incredibly telling giving the circumstances of her being here. Maybe Bree had been miscalculating her relationship with Jean a bit. Either that, or Bree was the only one Jean sent scrambling around the room for condoms. 

Well. This time it was her dick, and Jean was in the bath so it might as well be her room. “Bedside drawer,” she instructed, pointing. 

“ _You_ could have gotten it,” Ren pointed out, although she was already rolling over to scramble over the bed on her hands and knees. 

“I don’t see why I would,” Bree replied, examining her nails. Ren looked back over her shoulder and laughed. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Jean, too.” 

She half hopped, half rolled back across the bed with a condom in her hands, bedside drawer left haphazardly open in her enthusiasm. Bree wasn’t prepared for a lot of this situation, but she definitely hadn’t been emotionally ready for the sight of Ren tearing open a condom package with her teeth and then quickly sliding it over a dick already attached to her. She fought with a shiver of arousal at the sight. 

She wanted to not be standing on these heels anymore. However, she wanted to have some revenge on Ren slightly more. So she remained standing as she bent down towards the woman still sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning into a kiss that emphasized how much taller she was than Ren, still, despite how damn tall Jean’s bed was. 

And while Ren was distracted with that, she reached down, hooked her arms under Ren’s knees, and pulled upwards, sending her tumbling onto her back on the bed, legs in the air. She let out a squeak of alarm, which was adorable, but Bree gave her no chance to recover. The oversized dress fell back as her legs went up, revealing that Ren hadn’t even _bothered_ to put on the underwear Bree had found for her. Really? After all that fuss? Well, that made it easier now. Ren was glistening wet, thankfully, so there it was easy for Bree to quickly line herself up and push in. 

She was expecting more resistance than she got, given Ren’s small frame, and wound up shoving entirely to the hilt in one smooth thrust, her grunt of satisfaction as the base of the dildo ground against her clit drowned out by Ren’s pleasured cry. 

“Yes, oh my god, _fuck me,_ ” Ren demanded, and that was very much all the encouragement Bree needed. It was a bit tricky, at first, she wasn’t overly used to thrusting motions and it was _damned difficult_ to figure out how best to balance in heels when she needed leverage. But after a few fumbling thrusts, she figured it out, planting the balls of her feet firmly on the ground, heels catching against Jean’s carpet. 

It was as satisfying as when she’d fucked Jean, but in very different ways. She’d had to slave for every little huff of air, with him; every quiet groan had been an entire war won. Ren, in contrast, was an aggressive, squalling, squirming bundle of fierce, loud pleasure. The very second she got her balance, she reached up and wrapped her fist around Bree’s tie, pulling her down and encouraging her to grind in deep. Bree was more than happy to take the encouragement and instruction in equal measure, shifting her hips to try and find all the best ways to make Ren’s cries even louder. 

Not that Ren needed an excuse to be _louder_. Even if Jean couldn’t taste the arousal thick in the air, he’d certainly be aware of what they were getting up to. If she’d been doing this at her _apartment_ , half the building would probably have been able to tell. Although she supposed the exact details would be a surprise. She knew he wouldn’t mind; he never did, but the idea of him being a bit put-out was intoxicating. How many _times_ had he done this to _her_ , fucked someone else while she was right there or a room away, unable to either leave or interrupt? That thought in mind, she thrust as hard as she could, slamming her hips against Ren’s, relishing the way her moan crescendoed. 

Deep was clearly desired, but Bree was quickly learning that the trick to making Ren squirm was in angle. She finally gave up on struggling to reach it while balancing on needle heels and pushed Ren further back on the bed before climbing up over her and sliding back into her. It was effortless; the smaller woman was as much of a slick mess as Bree. 

She leaned back some, letting the curved tip of the golden toy grind against the front of Ren’s furiously clenching walls. She drew in a hiss of breath as the angle also pressed the part of the toy inserted into her against her own g-spot, each slam of her hips shoving and pressing the rounded hilt firmly against it. 

Ren’s cries were reaching a fevered pitch, and while it was hard to judge exactly, Bree hoped she was coming. She was quite enthusiastic if not, back arching and curled fists making a mess of Jean’s perfect lavender sheets. 

Heh. Lavender silk. All they needed were some lilies, maybe some violets. Throw in some bi lighting, toss some flannel on them and call it a day. 

Not satisfied with just the one hopefully-an-orgasm, Bree kept the pace up, and got daring enough to pull up the sweater dress over Ren’s chest. It seemed like that couldn’t possibly be rude when Bree was _inside_ her, though if there was anyone who could find a way to be rude while fucking someone senseless, it was definitely Bree. 

Bree ran her hands up Ren’s slender sides. When she arched her back, Bree could feel her ribs under her skin, which was a little alarming even though Bree _knew_ she was homeless and therefore regularly hungry. Frustrated with her own inability to somehow fix that situation magically, she slammed in harder, a growl catching in her throat and refusing to leave. Ren cried out in pleasured support of this, reaching over her head to clutch desperately at a pillow. 

Bree’s hands continued up to Ren’s breasts. Lying on her back like this, they were practically non-existent, but they still managed to bounce with the force of Bree’s thrusts. She caught Ren’s nipples between her fingers as she groped--probably clumsily, if she was being honest with herself--squeezing and rubbing and twisting to see if Ren could get louder. She always could, it seemed. 

Bree wondered what Ren’s too-pale hands would feel like on _her_ breasts. She was far too dressed for that right now, but maybe there would be a later. 

She finally dropped down onto her arms above Ren, grinding her hips against the smaller woman's again and again, as much seeking her own pleasure as Ren’s. 

“Tell me how to make this better,” she huffed into Ren’s ear, surprised at how her own voice sounded, low and throaty and halfway to a snarl. In response, Ren grabbed Bree’s hair in a thick handful and yanked Bree’s head down to press against her neck. Her hat shifted, but for once, she was barely paying attention. It was still on, that was more than enough. She kissed against Ren’s neck, gently, and Ren let out a panting whine. 

“Get mean,” she ordered, or maybe begged, and Bree found that she was completely willing to do just that. 

She slammed down into Ren, and at the same time bit down where her neck met her shoulder. The resulting wail of pleasure and violent thrusting of her hips up to grind against Bree was more than enough encouragement for Bree to continue. Panting against Ren’s skin between kisses, licks, and bites, she thrust into the smaller woman again and again, hunting for all the best spots to make her scream. 

Ren’s fingers, still in Bree’s hair, hit something unexpected and furry, one of her fingers brushing up the whole length of the back of one of Bree’s ears. Shocked, she let out her own moan of explosive pleasure, hips jumping desperately against Ren’s. Rather than pulling away out of shock, Ren moved her hand to stroke the ear again, intentionally, and Bree’s next moan was more of a desperate whimper. 

Ren shoved her fingers around the base of Bree’s ear, catching it between two knuckles, much the way Bree had done to her nipples earlier. She _rubbed,_ and Bree lost her mind as she continued, slamming frantically into her. All thoughts of the technicalities of what was happening were lost to her, she was just seeking pressure and pleasure and something, anything, to grind herself up against. 

She bit into Ren’s neck to muffle her moans, and just thrust, again and again and again and harder until she finally shoved in a final time and just ground frantically, whimpering her orgasm around the skin in her mouth. 

She managed, somehow, not to actively collapse onto Ren. Her hat was somewhere up on the bed, and she was vaguely aware that she was going to have to deal with that at some point. Ren’s fingers were still on her ears, and Bree whined in complaint when she began to withdraw. 

“Don’t stop,” she gasped out, and Ren dropped her hand back to play with Bree’s ears, a bit more casually. 

“Isn’t that my line?” Ren asked with a hoarse laugh. 

“You’ll have to wait for me to get feeling in my legs back,” Bree replied, and Ren laughed again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far and enjoyed it, please leave me a comment! I will love you forever.


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